


Breakfast in Bed

by ezziesworld (orphan_account)



Series: Domestic Bliss [1]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Joker wearing an apron, Sexual Content, Slight OOC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23582185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ezziesworld
Summary: You wake up thinking your apartment is on fire. It's just J....Making breakfast?
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker/Original Female Character(s), Joker/You
Series: Domestic Bliss [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697530
Comments: 1
Kudos: 38





	Breakfast in Bed

The amount of times you were accompanied by his _ever charming_ person the entire day could be counted on one hand. It were as though he kept an unremitting to-do list inside his head, consisting of things like iterating a meticulous plan to the loony goons at the warehouse, or sending out an ominous phone call to the next Gotham Socialite on their terror-radar. The days he spent in your apartment were few and far in between, and most often than not brought forth with a need to lay low. He’d called your apartment the _‘lady’s safe space_ ’, emphasis on ‘lady’ with an insinuating bounce of his brows. The anxiety of harboring a mass terrorizing clown in your quaint apartment was always there, but he certainly made it fun. 

That morning, you had awoken to the deafening sound of your fire detector, screeching through the narrow hallway and weaseling it’s way through the open crack of your door. In a brief, half lucid state you thought, _‘why is my alarm so loud?’,_ before jolting straight in bed with a scramble. You smelt smoke. 

You flung the blankets off your half decent frame and quite literally jumped out of bed, hastily padding your way down the hallway and toward the faint scent of burnt pancakes, beneath that overwhelming stench the enticing aroma of coffee. In your kitchen (wearing the other half of your attire), J was in the process of attempting to burn the place to the ground. 

You stopped mid step, quirking your head at the sight of him. He was wearing his pinstripe slacks and his color blocked socks, and nothing on top. You were dawning his honeycomb shirt, slipped onto your frame after you were sure he had passed out the night prior. You had to stay up until nearly two in the morning, but it was entirely worth it. 

In his shirts stead, he had nabbed the apron you wore when you ventured into messier cooking adventures. It was the epitome of all things frilly and pink. You pinched yourself, because there was no way this was real. The smoke detector was still blaring, J was still flipping pancakes that looked more akin to giant, floppy hockey pucks, and you were getting a headache. 

You breathed out, “Whata thing to wake up to.” In part disbelief, as well as annoyance. Walking into the kitchen, you grabbed hold of a dining chair, dragging it across the hardwood floor to sit beneath the flashing red, _evil_ detector. J had taken notice of you, slapping down the pancakes onto a plate before twisting to watch. 

You were too focused on ripping the damn thing out of the wall to catch the lingering attention he paid to your legs, which were completely bare. A teasing peek of white panties flashing each time you raised your arms. He leaned back with palms against the counter top, dragging his tongue along his lower lip, which was also bare. 

“Mornin’, dollface.” He piped up, waiting until after the blaring noise was sated. You had taken to simply removing the batteries, too tired and much too frustrated to turn it off the right way. You flipped it around in your hands before turning your attention to him. His face was devoid of makeup, his hair unusually fluffy (he had to have taken the elusive shower), and his eyes dark in a telling way. 

“Good morning, J. You’re up bright and early.” You tossed the detector with an underhand throw, and he caught it without a blink. 

“Well,” He began, eyeing the hunk of plastic, before absently tossing it onto the counter. “I was going to, ah, _surprise you.”_ He pushed himself away from the counter and approached. It was hard to take the deviant glimmer in his eyes serious when he wore a pink apron reading, ‘ _Don’t Be Afraid To Take Whisks_ ’. 

“By way of burning down my apartment?” You quipped. J sucked his teeth then, a sound that used to drive you nuts. Still does, but you’d grown used to it. His head was level with your stomach, the chair boosting you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his face into the plush flesh of your belly. “Uh oh—you’re acting like a kid who wants something from their mom.” You remarked, absently patting the hair atop his head. Soft, the dye had washed out a good bit, leaving a mass of faded sea foam green in the form of unruly waves and curls. 

“That makes what I’m about to do a little, ah, _awkward_.” He replied, pulling back just enough to angle his head. He glanced up the plane of your torso, his eyes trailing up as his hands trailed down. 

You were going to ask, but he answered your question when he slipped his hands beneath the elastic band of your panties, gliding them downwards so they caught on his wrists. He kneaded the roundness of your ass, and smirked. 

“Was gonna make pancakes—but let’s be honest here, doll. Not the _greatest_ cook in the world. And—” He went lower, and your panties found nothing to cling to anymore, the white cotton shimmying down your thighs to catch on your knees. You shivered, carting your fingers through his hair and gripping. “I’m thinkin’ I’m hungry for something _else_.” 

His fingers skirted along the slope of your ass, tickling the sensitive flesh of your upper thigh before dipping between your legs. Tracing your slit, he hummed and you gasped. 

“Breakfast in bed?” He grinned.


End file.
